


here to stay

by bobina



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alex Danvers mention, Canon Divergence, F/F, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, James Olsen mention, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, seriously migraines suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobina/pseuds/bobina
Summary: Supergirl stopped the Myriad wave in the nick of time, but Cat is still feeling its effects.Based on the prompt: "Hurt/comfort is my JAM. Emotional or physical hurt is fine, and obviously some angst, but would prefer a happyish ending."





	here to stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [averita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/gifts).



> Written by the seat of my pants after too many cups of green tea. Hope you enjoy!

 

It starts small, a pinprick behind her right eye that Cat can try to ignore. It’s with her before she’s fully opened her eyes, and it gives her enough pause to go for a glass of cold water before her first cup of coffee.

Her stomach churns at the sight of the sunny-side-up eggs over kale that her chef prepares for her.

It’s one of Cat’s go-to breakfasts when she knows she’s going to need to hit the ground running—high protein, low fat, low carbs, the perfect way to start a full day of meetings, phone calls, and putting out metaphorical fires. Still, Cat can’t help but glance at the cupboard hiding Carter’s cereals. The carbo-load would help her headache in the short-term, but the sugar crash in an hour would destroy any chance she has at a productive day.

Cutting into one egg with her fork, Cat tries not to look at the way the yolk runs yellow and bright against the dark green kale. She swallows reflexively, trying to beat down the nausea, and takes a bite, barely tasting anything beyond her own saliva. By the time her plate is clean and a full cup of coffee is in front of her, Cat’s right eye throbs. Still, she smiles for Carter when he emerges from his room. He looks tired, his eyes puffy and his body slow to move.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

It’s uncomfortable to talk. The interrupted breathing pattern jars her stomach and adds pressure to her head. But she tries for him, always. Carter’s reply is more of a grunt than a greeting, but he leans down for a kiss before sitting in his usual chair at the breakfast bar.

The aftereffects of the Myriad wave have taken their toll on everyone in National City, some more than others, it seems. Carter eats a bowl of cereal with about as much enthusiasm as Cat had choked down her eggs, and she makes sure he has an extra water bottle in his backpack before the car picks him up for school.

As Cat dresses and readies herself, she opts for a soft silk dress that allows more freedom of movement than some of her more form-fitting pencil skirts, and a long silver chain necklace that won’t crowd her throat. She chooses her subtlest perfume, and even then only applies a dab of it behind each ear. She’s less likely to smell it every time she moves that way. Before she leaves the penthouse for CatCo, Cat has the presence of mind to find the Imitrex nasal spray in her bedside table. The medication is usually enough to lessen the symptoms of a regular migraine, so Cat takes twice the recommended dose and hopes for the best.

The coffee in Kara’s outstretched hand when Cat walks into the bullpen feels like a personal offense. The smell is overpowering, even just stepping off the elevator, making Cat’s heart pound in her throat as she swallows down bile. Kara frowns like she can hear the change in Cat’s pulse, and her arm falters, bending in at the elbow and pulling the coffee a scant few inches away from Cat’s delicate nose.

Cat sighs, in no mood to explain or coddle. “Kiera, get me a green juice smoothie with enough chard to buy out a farm stand.” Cat doesn’t think she can actually stomach a smoothie, but at least it will feel cool on her tongue, even if she only manages a few sips.

Kara nods and stammers a “yes, Miss Grant,” but holds her ground. “The board will be here in twenty minutes, twenty-fifth floor conference room.”

Kara heads for the public elevators and Cat sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. She enters her office and silently thanks her interior designer for the suggestion of putting her office on the side of the building with west-facing windows—her eyes hurt enough from the overhead lighting and her wall of monitors without the added insult of a sunny southern California morning.

Cat sits down with her back to the bullpen, suffering long enough to scan the monitors for the headlines:

_National City Recovers from Alien Attack_

_Bipartisan Joint-Task Force Formed in Wake of Alien Attacks_

_National City First Major Metropolitan Area Outside of Metropolis to be Targeted by Aliens_

_Heat Wave Likely Not Linked to Alien Attack_

_President Marsdin to Make a Statement Regarding the Attack on National City_

It’s difficult to focus on any one story with each screen ever-changing, but Cat knows that turning them off or changing them to simply display the CatCo logo would draw too much attention from her staff. And she knows the board will have a field day with her if she comes into the meeting unaware of the national conversation surrounding her city. People want answers and they want to hear them from a source they trust: Cat knows that CatCo needs to be that source if the company is going to survive in this brave new world.

Kara returns, setting the juice near Cat’s right elbow before moving back to her desk. Cat lifts the smoothie to her lips, sucking carefully at the straw. The consistency is liquid enough that she thankfully doesn’t choke on it, and it does feel refreshing as she had hoped, but after only a handful of sips, her stomach threatens to reject it completely. She sets the cup on a coaster and props her elbows on the desk. She lets herself rest her head in her hands for just a moment and rubs at her right temple. She can feel Kara’s eyes on her, can feel the other woman’s worry tugging at her shoulders, and not for the first time, she curses the glass fishbowl that is her office.

When Kara walks in a few minutes later to collect Cat for the board meeting, her voice is soft and her movements careful. Kara has always known when Cat wasn’t feeling at her best, ready with a glass of M&Ms the mornings after Cat’s mother has been in town, steering the rest of the staff clear of the office as much as possible when Cat’s anxiety drives her closer and closer to panic. Today seems to be no exception. She hands Cat a glass of water and a small dish holding two painkillers, looking away into the bullpen as Cat gratefully gulps them down. They might not play well with the Imitrex, but it’s a risk Cat is willing to take for even a modicum of relief.

When they reconvene on the twenty-fifth floor, Cat from her private elevator and Kara from the public one, Cat’s curiosity gets the better of her. “How did you know?”

Kara clutches her tablet closer to her chest and smiles softly. Her voice is just a murmur when she speaks. “You always pinch the bridge of your nose and rub your right temple when you’re getting a migraine. And I know the board isn’t going to help much with that.”

If Cat hadn’t studied every minute of Superman coverage at the Daily Planet, she might suspect that one of Kara’s powers is predicting the future: the board meeting does nothing to alleviate Cat’s headache and only exacerbates her nausea.

The board loves the twenty-fifth floor conference room. Cat loathes it. If the Tribune hadn’t been in such financial straits for so long before Supergirl came on the scene, Cat would have had the room gutted and turned into her own personal spa by now. She can still feel the ghost of Dirk Armstrong’s smirk in this room, and it makes her skin crawl. The conference table takes up so much of the room that Cat can’t circle as she talks—it forces her to stand at one end, trapped in a corner away from the nearest exit and forced to project her voice for the room to be able to hear her. 

Cat doesn’t bother sitting down, she just stands at her end of the table and glares at the assembled members of the board. There are new faces, but their tune is always the same, and even though Cat’s head pounds and her knees feel like jelly, she refuses to give them ground.

Angela Stewart, a ten-year board member and president of a green tech company, takes it upon herself to start the meeting, breaking all kinds of long-standing protocols to do so. Judging by the looks on the rest of the board’s faces, this is a pre-planned power move.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, we need to discuss how to spin National City’s new place on the map as a hub for not just criminal activity, but _alien_ criminal activity.”

At least when Dirk was around he had the presence of mind to kowtow to _The_ Cat Grant before trying to knock her off her feet. Another day, Cat might’ve given Angela time to explain her thoughts. Today, though, the Imitrex has done nothing to stave off the pounding in Cat’s head and her heart is racing from the contraindication of the migraine medication and whatever painkillers Kara gave her.

Cat levels a look at Angela first, and then each board member in turn. The vision in her right eye is starting to blur and darken. She ignores it.

“A year ago it would’ve been easy to dismiss Metropolis as an anomaly. We’ve been doing that for long enough, after all. But it has become clear in the last year, with the arrival of Supergirl in National City, that the extraterrestrial presence on Earth is greater than we thought.” The board shifts in their seats, but none dare to interrupt.

“Now I’m not saying we embrace our alien overlords, but we do have to accept this new reality.” Cat’s eyes drift to Kara, standing near the door taking minutes. She blushes at the attention and Cat quirks an eyebrow.

“I have never been in favor of outing anyone”—Kara coughs and looks down. The board ignores her, as they nearly always do, but Cat catches her frown—“but our _spin_ , in CatCo magazine and in our online presence, should be focused on cautious curiosity and inclusion, not the xenophobic rage that Fox News is undoubtedly spewing. I’m willing to bet that, as with humans, it’s the most exceptional and the most reprehensible of aliens who make the news.

“As always, the Tribune should focus on hard-hitting facts and thorough investigation. I will not have my newspaper sensationalized like some sort of glorified National Enquirer.” Cat spares another glance at Kara, who has paused in her note-taking with some mixture of pride and hope shining in her eyes. Before she can do something ridiculous like wink at the girl, Cat turns back to the board, daring them to oppose her.

Normally after a speech like that, Cat would be spoiling for a fight, but she accepts acquiescence in the board’s grumblings before finally sitting down. The meeting fizzles out not long after that, the focus turning to finance projections and revenue streams before the meeting fully adjourns.

Cat has messages from the editor of the Tribune, Perry White, and the President’s assistant waiting for her when she returns to the fortieth floor. She pauses in front of Kara’s desk and Kara hovers behind her, ready for an assignment or a dismissal.

Ever the dutiful assistant.

Cat knows that others in Kara’s position would be coasting at this point, counting down the minutes until their promotion is finalized and Cat no longer needs them. Kara remains loyal and diligent, ready and willing to help Cat’s day run as smoothly as possible. Cat nods to herself and comes to a decision.

“Kara, handle the Trib.” Cat pauses, knowing by the soft intake of breath that Kara has noticed the use of her proper name. Cat looks Kara up and down but her brain is becoming too fuzzy to take in any details. “Perry, too, for that matter. And I’d like a salad for lunch”—her stomach roils at the thought but she continues anyway—“some sort of unobtrusive protein, light dressing on the side.”

Cat falters then, blinking at a sudden, blinding pain in her right eye. It feels like a drill pressing into her skull. Kara takes Cat by the elbow, gently steering them both into Cat’s office.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Miss Grant?”

Cat shoos her away and sits heavily in her chair. Kara goes only as far as the edge of the coffee table and Cat resists rolling her eyes at Kara’s concern, knowing it will only make her head worse.

“I’m fine, it’s just a headache.” Even admitting that much out loud is enough to clue Kara in on the severity of it, but Cat soldiers on. “Now, deal with those calls and pick up my lunch, chop chop.”

Kara takes one last look at Cat before nodding, frown ever-present on her brow, and takes her leave. Cat picks up the phone and forces herself to dial the White House. Whatever Olivia needs to talk about shouldn’t be kept waiting just because Cat feels like her head might cave in on itself. Kara can handle any issues the Tribune might be facing, and is always much better at stroking Perry’s ego than Cat ever was, but any direct calls to or from the Oval Office are handled by Cat and Cat only, no exceptions.

The conversation with the President’s assistant and then Olivia herself distracts her, giving her something else to focus on for a little while.

A special request to a press outlet by the President herself is not something Cat takes lightly, and despite the near-overwhelming pain in her head, she’s formed several plans of action and a rough schedule to roll out the news of what will be a very polarizing executive order, as well as any fallout. By the time she hangs up the phone, Kara has finished her calls and picked up Cat’s lunch, hovering outside the door to Cat’s office until the phone is securely back in its cradle. At Cat’s look, Kara comes into the room on quiet, quick feet, depositing a small green salad and a bread roll on Cat’s desk before turning to leave again.

“Wait.” Cat’s voice is weaker than she’d like, her body drained quickly of the adrenaline from the conversation with President Marsdin.

Kara turns and Cat gestures to the chairs opposite her desk. Kara sits primly, sweeping her hands under her thighs before settling into the chair directly across from Cat. She’s talking almost as soon as she sits down.

“I know you don’t usually have bread with your salad, Miss Grant, unless it’s a ‘cheeseburger on top’ kind of day, but the carbohydrates should help settle your stomach from the medication you took before the meeting, and—”

Cat holds up a hand, effectively cutting off Kara’s rambling non-apology. “It’s fine, Kara.”

It’s more than fine. It’s yet another example of Kara’s thoughtfulness and attentiveness and it’s yet another reason Cat is letting Kara go: their relationship has evolved far beyond boss-employee, mentor-mentee over the past year into whatever this undefinable… _thing_ is that’s happening between them now.

Kara smiles, just a gentle quirk of the corners of her mouth, and looks away. Cat looks down at the roll of bread and the salad and makes an easy choice. She pulls the roll in half and pinches off a piece of the white, fluffy inside, placing it her mouth and chewing slowly. Kara opens the salad container for her and Cat picks pieces of shredded chicken out with her fingers, popping them into her mouth like candy.

“So, have you thought of what you want to do with your promotion?” Cat asks, picking out a handful of dried cranberries from the salad. She ignores the lettuce.

Kara swallows reflexively and nods. “I have.” Her voice is tight.

Cat picks out a few more pieces of chicken and a few more cranberries before pushing the rest of the salad toward Kara. “And?”

Kara picks up the fork and pushes the remainder of the salad around. Cat makes a motion with her hand as if to tell Kara to hurry up and eat. Patience is not a virtue Cat has ever taken much stock in, and she’s curious to know what Kara has chosen to do with her career.

Kara inhales the salad in what seems like three bites, and then she pushes bits of carrots and sunflower seeds around the bottom of the container. She opens her mouth a few times to speak, but seems to shrink into herself every time she tries. It keeps Cat from snapping at her to get on with it—Kara is clearly working through something, and for a moment Cat is worried Kara has decided to quit CatCo altogether. They both breathe out a sigh of relief when Kara is finally able to form a sentence.

“It’s a little overwhelming, you know?” Cat hates the uncertain uptick in Kara’s voice, but lets it stand. Kara’s shoulders are bunched in and her voice is small in a way Cat hasn’t seen since her first week on the job.

“It is,” Cat allows, still not sure where Kara is steering the conversation.

Kara chews on her lip and raises her eyes to meet Cat’s. She looks like a terrified child and it takes everything in Cat not to reach across the desk and take Kara’s hand.

“It’s like you’re giving me the keys to the kingdom.” Kara huffs out a laugh and her shoulders bunch even more. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I could do here if I’m not your assistant anymore. It’s practically _all_ I’ve been able to think about the last couple of days.” Kara’s eyes dart to the windows and the balcony beyond. Cat wonders if she’d feel more comfortable having this conversation out there.

Cat nods, the motion making her head swim, but she presses on. “And has all of this thinking brought you an answer?” She can’t help the crack of impatience in her tone.

It’s Kara’s turn to nod, the motion jerky. She reaches up to fiddle with her glasses, and for a moment Cat thinks she might take them off completely. The moment passes when Kara breathes out a slow breath and meets Cat’s gaze again.

“One of the things that drew me to CatCo in the first place was the way the stories in the Trib and in the magazine are crafted.” She pauses. Cat can see the muscle in her jaw working. “I’ve been thinking about what you said at the board meeting today, about the kinds of conversations the world is having right now, and the way CatCo and the Trib will report on them, who to include…. And I think it’s important that someone…” Kara swallows heavily, her voice shaky, barely above a whisper, “ _like me_ be a part of that greater conversation.”

It’s the closest Kara has come to telling Cat outright that she’s an alien, that she’s Supergirl, and Cat finds herself leaning closer, waiting with bated breath for the other woman to come to her full point. Any other day, Cat might interrupt, might crow at finally, _finally_ having confirmation, as miniscule as it might be as proof. But today, not even a week after saving the world together… today, with Kara going the extra mile to make Cat comfortable when her body is working against her at every step, Cat accepts Kara’s admission with a silent nod and a soft smile.

Hands wringing nervously in her lap, Kara sits up a little straighter and continues to express her clearly-racing thoughts.

“With the editorial responsibilities you’ve given me over the past year, and my… _unique_ perspective, I think I’m the right person for the junior editor position that just opened at the Trib.” Kara’s eyes go wide and she waves her hands in her lap. “I know my spelling isn’t what it could be, but I’m working on it, all the time, and—”

“Kara, I think that’s a great idea.” Cat will not let this earnest, smart, determined young woman talk herself out of what could be the most important decision she’s ever made, cape or no cape.

Kara sucks in a breath. “You do?”

Cat smiles. “I do. I’ll forward your resume to the Editor-in-Chief, and I’ll even write you a letter of recommendation.”

Kara’s hands grip each other so hard in barely-contained excitement that Cat has to wonder if Kara can break her own bones.

“And Kara?”

Kara’s eyes are bright and glossy and she nods so hard her French twist starts to come loose at the front.

“That is not something I do for every assistant who moves on from this job. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, Miss Grant, I won’t. Thank you.” The earnestness in her voice is practically a fault. She appears to be on the verge of full-blown gushing when Winslow pokes his head around the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Kara, your one o’clock has been waiting for almost twenty minutes and I’m worried he’s going to leave if you don’t get out here soon.”

Kara’s eyes go wide and she stands abruptly, knocking her chair back and dropping her phone on the floor. “Oh my gosh!” She scrambles to right the chair and pick up her phone simultaneously. “I’m so sorry, Miss Grant, I completely lost track of the time. I have three interviews with potential new assistants this afternoon.”

The flurry of activity brings Cat’s headache back with a sudden fury and she simply waves Kara out of the room. Winslow has the presence of mind to shut the door behind him and for that, Cat is grateful.

Cat watches through the glass walls as Kara and Winn retreat across the bullpen. The interviewee-in-question is young and bland and looks down his nose when Kara goes to shake his hand. Cat knows Kara will give him a full interview anyway. She’s too sweet, too forgiving. She’ll learn.

When they’re finally out of sight, Cat closes her eyes and slowly spins her chair around so her staff can’t see her.

She blinks up at the monitors without reading a single word on any screen. Her head throbs and she can barely see out of her right eye. She could ignore it all when more important things were going on, and she knows when she’s feeling better she’ll fully process Kara’s little coming out, but right now, Cat can only focus on herself, on how tense her neck and shoulder muscles have become, how the smell of the leftover salad dressing in the container behind her threatens to overwhelm. It won’t be long until the overhead lights combine with the setting sun to fully incapacitate her. She considers leaving now, but without Kara at her desk and with the state of the national conversation, who knows what conflagrations will be waiting for her tomorrow.

So Cat sucks in a breath and stands, first cleaning up the remnants of the impromptu shared lunch, and then finding the remote to bring the window shades down half-way to block out the worst of the afternoon sunlight. She calls her masseuse in for a head and neck massage, and the rest of the day passes blissfully quickly.

Still, the glare of the setting sun is enough to trigger another wave of pain and nausea and dizziness when Cat leaves the office. It’s rare that she’s leaving before the sun is fully down, while the bullpen still bustles with activity. Kara doesn’t comment on it, just says a soft, “good night, Miss Grant” when Cat announces she’s going home.

Carter doesn’t hide his surprise as easily. As soon as Cat walks in the door, her son is asking her if she’s feeling alright, why she’s home so early, does her head still hurt. Before she’s even stowed her purse and taken off her shoes, he has a clean washcloth in his hands, holding it up for her to see.

“Hot or cold, Mom?”

“Cold, please.” Her reply is automatic and she can’t keep the desperation out of her voice. Carter comes back with the washcloth, now dampened with cold water.

“Lie back,” he insists, even as he helps her get comfortable with a throw pillow under her knees. Cat protests weakly, but as soon as Carter lays the washcloth over her eyes, her whole body melts into the couch.

The relief is instant, a combination of the cold compress on her temples and across her sinuses, and the ability to take off her shoes and lie down after a trying day. Cat isn’t sure how long she dozes, but it’s long enough that when she wakes, her bladder full and insistent, the house staff has gone home for the night and the only light on in the penthouse is the lamp next to Carter’s reading chair.

Cat knows it’s on the lowest setting but still grumbles a “too bright” when she pulls the washcloth off of her face. Carter sits up in the chair, book falling to his lap. The room is practically dark, the shades drawn on the floor-to-ceiling windows that usually give Cat a view of the city lights, but even the one lamp is too much for her sensitive eyes.

She covers her face with a shaky hand, disheartened to realize in her groggy state that the headache has returned full force. She hears Carter move across the room to her side and hates that she flinches away from his hand on her shoulder. Every nerve ending is pins and needles and the urge to vomit is ever-present.

“Mom?” Carter’s voice is soft, scared. “Should we take you to the hospital?”

She hates that he sounds so terrified, hates that she can’t do anything to soothe him. “No, Carter,” she breathes, not trusting her voice to speak any louder. “I just need to go to bed.”

“Are you sure?” His hand hovers near her shoulder again. “Because this seems worse than a usual migraine.”

It tears at Cat’s heart to hear him so scared. She nods, gently, and blindly reaches for his hand. He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll be alright, sweetheart.” She wishes she felt as sure as she sounds. “Help me up.”

Cat lets go of Carter’s hand and pats him on the hip. He helps her stand and guides her to her bedroom, pulling out her softest pair of silk pajamas and turning down the bed.

She shoos him out of the room with a kiss on the head and whispered, “good night, I love you,” and makes her way gingerly into the en-suite bathroom. She relieves herself and musters the energy to splash cool water on her face before brushing her teeth. When even the smell of toothpaste is too strong, Cat knows that her usual bath is out of the question. She washes the make-up off at the sink and rubs unscented moisturizer on her face and calls it good enough before re-entering the bedroom. She undresses quickly, glad to be rid of her bra. The silk pajamas are cool on her skin.

She’s asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.

 

* * *

 

She dreams in black and white and hears crackling, like static on old tapes. She wakes up with her alarm and vomits in the toilet. The vision in her right eye is still blurry and dark and her whole head throbs. She’s slow to clean up, slower to dress, leaving her pajamas on the floor and her bed unmade.

Carter leaves for school before she even makes it out of the bedroom, calling a soft “bye, Mom, feel better, I love you” through the door.

She should probably stay home, but Cat hasn’t taken a sick day since Carter was in elementary school. She takes more Imitrex and instantly regrets it, the nasal spray causing her eyes to water and her throat to seize. She coughs into the bathroom sink and thinks she might be sick again, but after a few minutes her head begins to clear enough to stand upright. She forgoes breakfast, and coffee, telling her chef and housekeeper to take the day off. She doesn’t need witnesses to her suffering, no matter how well she pays them.

When Cat gets to the office, Kara is already there, looking worried when she sees Cat step off the elevator. Cat keeps her sunglasses on as she makes her way across the bullpen and into the office. Kara stands and follows close behind.

If she can get to her desk and sit down, Cat thinks maybe she can make it through this day.

“Miss Grant? I got a text from Carter.” Cat freezes in her tracks but doesn’t turn around. “He seemed to think you were staying home sick.”

Cat wants to rail against the idea of taking a sick day. She wants to verbally eviscerate any of her staff that even thinks she’s weak enough to be sidelined by a mere headache. She wants to tell Kara to mind her own business and get back to work.

But she can’t.

The words don’t come, and when she turns around to face Kara head-on, her usually-dormant vertigo rears its ugly head. Kara is there, across the room in the blink of an eye with her hands under Cat’s elbows, murmuring “whoa, I’ve got you.” Kara steers Cat to the nearest couch and helps her sit. She quickly moves to the bar and pours a glass of water. She’s back at Cat’s side in an instant, pressing the cool glass between Cat’s hands before resting a hand on Cat’s lower back.

“I think I should take you home, Miss Grant, if you’re still feeling ill from yesterday.” It’s not a question, but it is hesitant enough to let Cat know that Kara is still worried about over-stepping.

Cat sips at the water, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and put her head between her knees to stop the spinning. She won’t show that kind of physical weakness in front of her staff, not at work and not when it’s her own body betraying her.

Kara’s thumb moves, ever-so-slightly, on Cat’s back, just a gentle up-and-down motion meant to soothe and distract, and Cat finds herself leaning into the younger woman’s side.

She has no argument. Every cell in her body is telling her to listen to her son, to listen to Kara and go home to rest.

A phone rings in the bullpen and it’s all at once too loud, too shrill. Cat whimpers at the sound and her hand twitches. Water sloshes over the rim of the glass and onto the floor. Kara takes it from her gently with her free hand and places it on the coffee table, not bothering with a coaster.

Cat feels like she should care about the ring it will make, but Kara is suddenly moving away. Cat whimpers again and Kara is right back by her side. “I’ll be right back, Cat, just sit tight,” she says softly before standing up and walking out of the office.

Cat has barely enough energy to track Kara’s movement, and her head swims with the effort.

Kara walks to Winslow’s desk and whispers something in his ear. He jerks up in surprise and peers into Cat’s office, eyes wide. He nods to Kara and says something Cat can’t hear before picking up his coffee cup and moving to sit at Kara’s desk. Kara stands next to him and picks up the desk phone. She makes two quick calls and then returns to Cat’s side, picking up both of their purses. She gently takes Cat’s elbow and helps her to her feet, shifting her hand once they’re both standing to the small of Cat’s back.

“Come on, Miss Grant, it’s time to go home.”

Cat doesn’t protest, just lets herself be led. It’s early enough, not even 8 AM, that there are relatively few witnesses to Cat’s early departure. She doesn’t hesitate to step into her private elevator with Kara, not concerned about the other woman’s germs—if she even has any, considering yesterday’s almost-admission—so much as she is with saving ninety seconds to get to the parking garage.

As the doors begin to slide closed, she sees James Olsen power-walking across the bullpen with his laptop under his arm and a mug of coffee in his hand. He raises it in salute to her as he enters her office, a solemn look on his face.

Cat doesn’t remember much after that, just the feel of her feet moving under her unsteadily and Kara’s hand on her back. The car ride to her building is a blur, and when they get there, Kara has to hold her up bodily to keep her from collapsing in the elevator up to the penthouse floor.

Kara helps her into the master bedroom, disappearing for what feels like less than a second before reappearing with a wet washcloth and another glass of water. Cat sits heavily on the bed, shoes kicked off across the floor. She tugs at the dress she put on this morning, feeling claustrophobic even in the thin fabric. Something about it is too tight across her shoulders and waist and Cat wants it off already.

“Hold on, Cat, let me help you,” Kara murmurs, setting the water glass and washcloth on the bedside table.

She collects Cat’s silk pajamas from the floor and shakes them out gently, laying them on the bed before stepping to Cat’s side. Her hands reach out and then pause half-way. “Um, if that’s okay, I mean.”

Cat just nods, eyes squinting shut. Kara’s hands are warm on her skin, and she’s careful not to jostle Cat too much as she helps her undress. Cat keeps her eyes closed, the miniscule thread of sunlight coming in under the closed curtains still too much to bear.

“Okay, um, do you—” Kara pushes out a harsh breath and a quiet curse. “Can you get your bra yourself, or should I leave it, or…?”

Heat creeps up Cat’s neck, in embarrassment or something else she’s not sure. She makes a face and waves a hand and hopes Kara gets the message. Speaking is too much effort right now.

“Right.” Another harsh breath, and then those warm hands are shaky against Cat’s back.

Kara fumbles with the enclosure before it comes undone. Cat automatically reaches up when the straps go slack and begin to slide down her shoulders. She pulls the offending garment off the rest of the way and Kara is already pulling the pajama top around her shoulders and helping guide her arms into the sleeves. Cat only buttons the bottom three buttons, not wanting the collar to rub against her clavicles.

Kara helps her stand and her dress slides over her hips and onto the floor. She groans when Kara tries to lift her feet to help her into the pajama pants. She might say “no,” but she’s not sure the word actually passes her lips. Either way, Kara understands, and seconds later, Cat is finally lying down again and Kara is gently placing the cool, wet washcloth over her eyes.

“Cat, I’m going to call my sister.” The words register before Cat slips into unconsciousness and her heartrate spikes. “It’s okay, she studied medicine. She can help.”

Cat relaxes and mutters “okay,” her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.

“Have you taken anything to help the headache that she’d need to know about?” Kara’s voice sounds far away and too loud at the same time.

Cat presses a shaky hand against the washcloth. It’s already warming against her skin. “Imitrex, single dose.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

She listens as Kara steps out of the room and vaguely wonders if missing the other woman’s steady presence is a symptom or a delusion before drifting off into an uneasy doze.

It could be minutes or hours before Cat stirs again. The washcloth has slipped down her face, bunching uncomfortably by her ear, and the light under the curtains has intensified. Cat tries pulling the sheet over her head but immediately feels like she’s suffocating and pushes it away.

Her bedroom door opens and closes as Kara slips back inside. Cat watches through slanted eyes as Kara looks around the room, seeming a little lost, before she pulls her glasses down her nose and squints in the direction of the bathroom. She stands like that for several seconds, and it takes until she walks into the en-suite for Cat to realize that the other woman must have used her x-ray vision. Kara re-emerges with two pill bottles in her hand.

“Hey,” she whispers, noticing Cat watching her. “Alex said to try this, and if you don’t feel any improvement in an hour, I should take you to the hospital.”

She sets the pill bottles down next to the untouched water glass and sits on the bed next to Cat. “Let me help you sit up.” Her hands are already moving, one between Cat’s shoulders and one steady on her hip.

She lets Cat lean heavily on her, rotating her body to support Cat’s weight while opening the two bottles. “Two ibuprofen, two acetaminophen. Alex said they might mess up your stomach for a little while, especially with the Imitrex and after you take your Lexapro this afternoon, but it’s really effective at breaking up bad migraines like this.”

She doles out two pills from each bottle into the palm of one hand and holds them out for Cat to take.

“Oh, and no alcohol for a couple of days at least, just to be safe.”

Cat barely registers the warning, just takes the pills with unsteady fingers from Kara’s hand and places them in her mouth. Kara hands her the water glass and Cat sloppily gulps down half of it.

“Thank you,” she breathes, pushing away from Kara’s side to lie back against the pillows. The lukewarm, wet lump of washcloth presses against her arm uncomfortably and she grimaces, pulling it out from where it’s trapped against her. She’s about to fling it across the room to deal with it later when Kara takes it from her hands.

“Oh, this isn’t cold anymore. Here, let me…” she trails off while she unravels the washcloth. Cat watches in wonder as Kara blows out a gentle breath of ice against the damp cloth.

Kara refolds it and moves to place it back on Cat’s face. Reaching up, Cat catches her hand. She’s still squinting against the thin band of light traveling slowly across the floor, but she holds Kara’s gaze.

“Why now, after denying it for so long?” She shifts against the pillows. Water sloshes in her stomach and she swallows. “Why like this?”

Kara’s hands drop slowly to her lap and she smiles, her eyes a little sad. She shrugs and her fingers fiddle with the frozen cloth. “You helped me save the city, the _world_. You deserve to know after everything you’ve done for me.”

Tears form quickly in Cat’s eyes and she swallows at the hot lump of emotion forming in her throat. “Kara…”

Kara takes her hand, her fingers cold but firm. “A part of me always wanted to tell you, even when I was scared of you knowing. But this way… this way, it’s not about proving myself to you, it’s… it’s sharing a part of who I am with you.” Kara pauses, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are intense and dark in the dim light. “I want to share everything with you.”

“Oh, Kara,” Cat breathes, leaning forward again to wrap the other woman in a tight embrace.

Kara lets go of Cat’s hand to wrap an arm around Cat’s waist, pressing her face into Cat’s shoulder. Cat’s hands press firmly into Kara’s back, feeling the muscles there ripple against her touch. They hold each other for long minutes before Cat is curling away from the light again, squeezing her eyes shut and laying her head on the nearest pillow.

“Rest, Cat,” Kara whispers, placing the cold washcloth over Cat’s eyes, adjusting it carefully so it won’t slide down.

Cat reaches up and clings to Kara’s wrist. “You’ll stay?”

Kara hums gently and twists in Cat’s grip to hold her hand. “I’ll stay, as long as you need me.”

Sighing softly, Cat relaxes back against the bed, tugging gently at Kara’s arm. She hears two soft but distinct _thuds_ that must be Kara’s shoes dropping to the floor, and then Kara is stretching out next to her. Cat curls into her side and finally feels something like real relief for the first time in two days.

 

_End._


End file.
